


Desideratum

by Verdigris (Inspirent)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Dirk Strider, dirk has a panic attack, dont come here looking for hot and heavy smut, jake is really sweet, theres also no dialogue in this, this is emotional sex, youll be thoroughly disappointed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7721179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inspirent/pseuds/Verdigris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can barely hear his soft breathing over the sound of your pulse. His hands play across your stomach, thumbs sweeping over your abdominals and coming to rest underneath your ribs. He pauses. Asks if you're alright. You're barely able to answer, just nod, exhaling shakily into his hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desideratum

**Author's Note:**

> I've been slaving over this fic for ages, trying to get it just perfect. This fic is my baby, and I feel like I've grown along with it. I wanted to try writing without dialogue, without focusing too much on the carnal and instead paying attention to the emotional and mental state of a character as they handle an intensely stressful situation. I hope everyone reading this enjoys it, and know that I'd really appreciate it if you would leave kudos or a comment if you enjoyed this work. Thank you so much for reading.

_Hands shaking. Breathing uneven. Heart rate approximately 65 bpm._

His warm, calloused hands, sliding down your arms. An unfamiliar feeling, yet greatly welcome.

Fumbling, hands flitting over his shoulders. Wondering if it's okay to touch. Need something to do with your hands.

His lips, on your cheek, jaw, neck, his dark hair brushing lightly against your face, too much blood rushing away from your head and you can't concentrate. Your heart is pounding rapidly and you can't think with his fingers creeping underneath the hem of your shirt.

Struggling for breath. Heart feeling like it might explode out of your chest, shatter your ribs with the very force of its rapid pounding. 

You can barely hear his soft breathing over the sound of your pulse. His hands play across your stomach, thumbs sweeping over your abdominals and coming to rest underneath your ribs. He pauses. Asks if you're alright. You're barely able to answer, just nod, exhaling shakily into his hair. His hands find their way upwards, thankfully moving over the tight fabric binding your chest, lifting the hem of your shirt over your pectorals, and you raise your arms to allow him to pull it off of you.

_Heart rate now approximately 72 bpm._

His fingers dance across your pale shoulders and along your back, causing you to arch it involuntarily. One snakes its way down to your hip, rubbing gently, soothingly, and pulls you closer and it's too much, it's all too much, so you cup his jaw in your hands and pull him forwards, distracting yourself with the feeling of his slightly chapped lips on your own. 

You try to calm your breathing.

_Inhale._

This is fine, this is Jake. Clumsy, clueless Jake. Familiar.

_Exhale._

His grip tightens on your hip, and his other hand moves to card through your hair and tug slightly. You gasp softly into his mouth, and he grins.

_Inhale. Exhale._

He pulls back, whispers to you, noise hardly audible. Tells you he loves you. You swallow thickly, not trusting your voice. Instead, you pull him back to you, pressing chaste kisses against his lips. You hesitantly move your shaky hands to divest him of his overshirt, letting it fall noiselessley to the floor.

You can feel his muscles work under your hands as he gingerly removes your shades from your face and tosses them who cares where. His eyes meet yours with no barrier of tinted glass in between, and you would flinch and look away if you didn't trust him so much. But you do. You trust Jake English with your life, so surely, surely, you can trust him with this. 

Your teeth dig into the soft skin of your lip, almost hard enough to break it, as his fingers bump against the edge of your binder. He looks up at you, expression conveying a silent question, and your heart feels like it skips a beat. You can practically hear your own pulse at this point, feel it jump as you nod your head minutely. He kisses your cheek, murmurs words of comfort, tells you that you're brave, so brave for doing this. For allowing him to see a part of you that you so desperately want to hide.

You feel cool air hit your skin, and your eyes squeeze shut as his fingertips slide along your sides, pulling the taut fabric of your binder over your head. He lets it fall, thumbs skimming across your cheekbones as he gently urges you to look at him. His soft gaze remains on your face, and he seems to be searching for something, any hint of you being unsure. You don't give him time to see it, however, pulling him in for another quick kiss. He smiles, pressing small kisses onto your cheeks, and you nearly laugh at the absurdity of being coddled in this situation.

The earlier feeling of desperation seems to reinstate itself, however, and you let out a shaky exhale as his lips wander back down your neck, leaving a trail of reassuring kisses in their wake. He stops to suck a bruise just above your left collarbone, and you shudder as he nips the abused skin gently.

More kisses, trailing down the middle of your chest and across to one side, where he laves at your perked nipple with his tongue. Your body seems frozen, as if unsure whether to jerk into the touch or away from it. You don't get much time to decide, however, because he moves away after a moment, looking up at you with an almost concerned look. Again, he asks you if you're alright, tells you he's worried because you're shaking, that he can stop if you want. You shake your head, and hear your wavering voice tell him that you're fine. He chuckles, lets you know that you're a stubborn bastard. You return the sentiment, telling him to shut up and that he's ruining the mood.

He grins impishly, moves his hand to cheekily squeeze your right asscheek, and you squeak. He asks you if this is better, and part of you wants to slap him, but you don't. Instead you move your own hand down in an act of challenge, slipping it underneath the fabric of his shorts and gripping the flesh under it and you're sure he can feel you shaking, but he doesn't seem to falter, only snorts, and you're worried the mood is gone for a moment, but then he's moving his hand to the front of your jeans, pausing at the button and looking up at you questioningly. You roll your eyes and tell him to get on with it, and he does, only fumbling with the button a bit before he has your jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, and he's dropping down, helping you step out of them and god, isn't he such a gentleman? 

However much of a well-behaved gentleman he may be, the way he mouths you through your underwear is absolutely sinful. Your thighs quiver, and you feel your heart rate pick up again.

_Heart rate now approximately 70 bpm._

The wet heat of his mouth presses against you through the cotton of your boxers and you grip his hair so tightly that it probably hurts, but you need to ground yourself because you feel dizzy, kiss-drunk and confused, and you couldn't stifle the shuddering gasps that escape your lips when he does _that with his tongue oh god_ even if you were thinking clearly enough to try. 

His fingers caress your hips, and hold you steady when your muscles urge them to stutter forward. He eventually pulls away, looks at your flushed face with adoration lighting his eyes. He tells you to lay down, calls you love, and you melt into the sheets, pulse jumping slightly as he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your underwear and shit, shit, he's-

You screw your eyes shut, clenching your fists in the blanket underneath you. You try to calm your breathing again.

_Inhale. Exhale. Heart rate now approximately 74 bpm._

He pulls your boxers down your legs, slowly, and cool air floods over your slightly stickly thighs.

_Inhale exhale. Heart rate now approximately 77 bpm._

He breathes out a sigh, running his fingertips along the inside of your thighs.

_Inhaleexhale. Heart rate now approximately 80 bpm._

You gasp, a stuttering, harsh sound, meant to bring air into your lungs but instead you're choking, you're drowning but your body won't move, you're unable to act, unable to think about anything but that you need help, oh god, is this what dying feels like?

And suddenly Jake's there, cupping your face, tilting your head so he can look at you, and you open your eyes after a moment, still unable to control your basic body functions, god, you look like a fool, you're ruining everything and he tells you that it's alright but

it's

not.

He whispers to you, croons soft comforts, forehead pressed against yours, and the shaking is still there but you can breathe, and you gulp in air, he shushes you and you realize you're crying all too late to stop. 

You feel stupid, and you tell him you are, that you're sorry for ruining everything. His only response is to pepper your face with kisses, like he's determined to press one to every freckle marring your pale skin. You loop your arms around him, clinging to him and he lets you and what did you ever do to deserve this man? You're convinced you don't, scared that he'll realize it and you dimly recognize that you've been vocalizing your thoughts when he's reassuring you that he's right there, he's not leaving, that he loves you. You choke down your sobs, swallow back your fear, and focus on willing your hands to stop shaking. He asks if you want to stop again. You tell him no, and he kisses you. Softly. Languidly. Like you're the most precious thing in the universe to him, and you allow yourself to be disillusioned by this thought for a while longer. 

He eventually moves away, back to kneeling between your thighs again, and this time you focus on him, rather than your shuddery breaths or twitchy muscles. He rubs gentle patterns into your skin, spirals and figure-eights, his fingers skating upon your legs and grounding you, giving you something to focus on. When your muscles have relaxed, he slowly moves his hand to rub at your arousal gently and it's too much but not enough at the same time. 

You feel your hips cant upwards, and Jake shifts a bit, the fabric of his shorts rubbing against your legs and you don't know why he's wearing clothing still, it's ridiculous, and you tell him so, batting his hands away from your groin and tugging on the waistband of his pants. He sighs, unbuttons his shorts, shucks both them and his underwear, and lets them fall to the floor and he's gorgeous, god help you, you love this man too much for words. Your legs hook about his waist and tug him forwards insistently, and he shifts until his smooth skin touches yours. The feeling causes your hips to buck into his, and he makes a wonderful little sighing noise, all shuddery and perfect. 

You resign yourself to the task of making him let that noise loose again; hearing it is like a drug to you, one listen and you're already addicted and wanting more. You reach up, wrapping your arms around him and letting your fingers splay along the expanse of his back, feeling his muscles work as he begins to rut against you, member becoming slick as it slides against your wet folds. You throw your head back and grit your teeth to contain the soft noises that threaten to escape your lips. 

Jake sucks yet another bruise onto your neck, this one definitely high enough to not be completely covered by a shirt. You're sure the purple will stand out, blooming on your pale skin, there's no way people won't notice. You shiver at the thought, breathing heavily through your nose and biting your lip harshly. 

Jake moves up to your lips to kiss you softly, coaxing your lower lip out from between your teeth. He whispers lowly, breath hot against your mouth, tells you he wants to hear you, and you let out a soft whimper at how gentle, how caring he is about it. He's set a rhythm now, and soon moans are spilling from your lips as he moves slowly, so slowly, spikes of pleasure coiling themselves around you, constricting your logic until you can't think anything but _Jake. Jake. Jake._ His name escapes your lips as a whisper, and he responds, murmuring your own. 

You whine when he halts for a moment, eyes fluttering open and looking up at him. He's leaning back a bit, eyes raking over your thin frame, and you shift slightly, nearly uncomfortable as he looks you over. Your throat feels as though it's closing up again, and your breathing stills for a few seconds when he stutters out a question: would it perhaps be alright if you engaged in intercourse this evening? You swallow thickly, nodding your head and telling him yes, god yes, you want that more than anything. He wets his lips, reaches over to dig around in your nightstand for a moment before dropping a small foil packet next to you on the bed and oh jesus, okay, you're actually going to do this.

His hands find your crotch again, slightly chilly fingers sliding between your slick folds and over your clit a couple of times, causing you to groan softly. It doesn't take long for him to become a bit bolder, one finger moving to slowly press into you and jesus, that's weird. You make an odd expression, and he nearly stops until you urge him to keep going, tell him that you're fine. 

Another finger joins the first, and you hiss softly at the harsh burning stretch centered just at your entrance, trying to force your muscles to relax. He doesn't stop this time, just slows his movements until you begin to roll your hips down as he slides his fingers inside of you. He scissors them a bit before adding a third, repeating the same process until you're panting beneath him, not only accustomed to the feeling of his fingers in you, but practically craving it, heels digging into the mattress as your hips work upwards, trying to match his imperfect rhythm as best you can. His thumb digs roughly into the inside of your thigh as he attempts to slide his fingers in deeper, and you choke out a groan.

A whine escapes your lips, unabashed, as he gently slides his fingers out of you, and you lay panting for a moment, the sound of your own breathing accompanied only by the rapid huff of his own. You look down, let out a shaky exhale as you watch him roll a condom down his length. He moves to hover over you for a moment, and you feel your heart rate pick up again, but focus on keeping your breathing steady, anything to stop yourself from disappointing him. Anything to stop yourself from only further ensuring the inevitability of his departure from your bed, your home, your life.

He presses against you, and you shiver. No matter how much you hate yourself for it, you can't keep yourself from loving Jake English. It's almost impossible not to, your heart practically swells as he makes sure you're alright, makes sure this is still alright with you. Under any other circumstances, you'd find his constant fretting over you to be aggravating, but now it only makes your throat close up, whether from adoration, guilt, or a mix of the two, you're not sure. He seems constantly concerned that you're not comfortable, that you're pushing yourself into something just for the sake of his happiness. And a part of you knows that he's right to be wary of that, that you would gladly do anything for him, even if it demanded the sacrifice of your own comfort and security.

His skin is soft under your hands as you move them down to his hips, urging them forward, and he seems to have gotten the message, pushing and sinking into you slowly with a shuddery groan. You will yourself to relax as he does so, though a fizzle of discomfort buzzes through your pelvis and you breifly consider telling him to stop, but hold your tongue, forcing yourself to ignore the pain. 

It takes you all too long to adjust, and you feel a weight settle in your chest as you watch him shift above you, fingernails biting into the sides of your hips. You tell him to move before you're completely ready, and nearly wince at the feeling of him sliding out of you before pushing back in. He seems blessedly oblivious to your plight, brows knitting together as he works in and out of you. He's muttering stupid things into your ear, things that make your toes curl and your fingers press against his back, and even though you weren't enjoying this too greatly in the physical sense, he's somehow causing your discomfort to slowly ebb away into something a bit warmer, and you find that your hips begin to roll up into his. 

You settle into his rhythm easily, bucking your hips up to meet his every time that he bucks his own forwards. It's unexpectedly pleasant, moving with him, feeling the hot slide of him against and inside of you. You pant softly, each breath tinged with the hint of a whine. Soft, stuttered curses roll off of your tongue unbidden, and suddenly Jake's moving his hand and he's- oh god his fingers are rubbing at you again, the tip of his index catching a bit on the hood of your clit as it presses firmly against the bundle of nerves.

You choke out a loud keening noise, fingernails digging into his back as you attempt to buck upwards, onto his dick, against his fingers, and you're absolutely overwhelmed by the stimulus. He stutters out a low groan, forehead pressed to your shoulder, and whispers your name. His words reach your ears, whispered lowly, just for you to hear and treasure. Sweet nothings spill from his lips as he quickens his pace, causing your chest to fill with an emotion that you can only describe as adoration.

You feel your core tighten with the strain of rolling your hips up against Jake's, and you're gone, reduced to nothing but moans and cries of his name. He consumes your mind, worms his way into every corner and crevice of your thoughts until nothing is left, until your everything is centered around his being. He breathes softly into your ear, his murmurs running together in your mind until you're unable to keep track of what he's saying anymore. 

Your head feels like it's spinning, like it's full of cotton balls, and your eyes close of their own volition, every muscle in your body tensing as you come. You shudder through your orgasm, clinging to Jake like he's the only thing tethering you to the here and now, as if without him you would be without space, without being. He continues to pound into you as you quiver, rhythm faltering as your muscles clench and ripple around him. He comes with a low groan, and you feel him twitch and spill inside of you, and god if that didn't make you want to come all over again. 

You appreciate that he has the decency to land next to you when he collapses, rather than onto you. You really wouldn't appreciate getting sweatier, especially since you're already sticky beyond belief. It's... a surprisingly uncomfortable feeling to have him pull out of you and leave you empty, and you're left jelly-limbed and staring up at the ceiling as Jake rises to assumedly toss the used condom in the trash bin. 

You thought you were supposed to feel different. Like a choir of angels was supposed to rain down on you and sing some stupid hymn because you lost your v-card. But you don't, and they don't.

You actually feel pretty normal, in reality.

Besides the soreness in your limbs and the now unpleasant wet feeling between your thighs, you feel like yourself. Like normal Dirk. No sudden emotional breakthroughs, nothing special. Just the massive rush of endorphins that are still drowning your brain.

Jake pulls the covers out from underneath you, guiding you to lift your body. He gives you the most doting smile, and you offer the ghost of one in return. You're limp even as he takes his discarded shirt and wipes at your inner thighs. You're going to have to deal with that later, and you'll probably be peeved, but right now you can't bring yourself to care. You're too tired. 

Jake's hands touch your skin, gently urging you to scoot to the side. He tells you to budge over and you do, accepting his furnace-hot, sweat slick body into your space, however warm you feel yourself. As soon as he's settled, you move onto your side to wrap one arm around him, feeling the heavy rise and fall of his chest. He lets out a drawn-out sigh of contentment, and you hum, silently urging him to lift his arm to allow you to curl against his side.

His arm settles around your shoulders, rough hand rubbing gently at the skin of your upper arm. You smile, allowing your eyes to close for a moment as he murmurs to you, lips pressing against your forehead. For the first time in a long time, you feel utterly contented.

Jake's breathing slows, and you gaze at his peaceful expression, trying to press even closer to him. He's asleep now, and you have to cling to him to be fully reassured that he'll still be there when daylight pours in through the window and the silence of your moment is shattered by the bustle of people.

Right now, though, this moment, is yours. Yours and his. You let your eyes close again, allow his breathing to guide your own. You need his presence to breathe like this, to let your mind go blank. You need him to feel content. He stirs in his sleep, murmurs your name, and you smile.

You love him. And... perhaps, just perhaps, you're beginning to believe 

that he

loves 

you 

too.


End file.
